


Not Good Till He Begs

by TheMockingCrows



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Desperation Kink, Fingering, M/M, Masturbation, Powerplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-04
Updated: 2013-06-04
Packaged: 2017-12-13 23:30:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/830100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMockingCrows/pseuds/TheMockingCrows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bro knows that he and Dave's relationship is already pretty non-standard, twisted, fucked up by the worlds standards. If only they knew the depth of it. What would their faces turn to if anyone ever found out that aside from enjoying a thorough sex life with his younger brother, that Bro loved to make him fall to pieces? There's something beautiful in desperation, and while Bro may not understand beauty, he damn well knows that Dave's beautiful when he begs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Good Till He Begs

Part of their world was a silent dance around each other. From morning till night, heat of summer to the few cool breezes in the sarcastic joke that was winter in Austin, they were in a never ending revolution around one another. Poking into the backwards rotation of each other's cycle around the sun. Bro would peek in long enough to beat Dave senseless in spars if he so much as slipped in form, not stopping till he was falling over from exhaustion and dripping enough sweat to fill a child's swimming pool. He'd dance him around inside, keep him on his toes mentally and emotionally. A single day could span anywhere from a random gift being bestowed on him, some new tech goodies or supplies for his many hobbies, or it could just as easily hold traps at every angle.

Explosive spouts of foamy buttocks and unashamedly phallic noses, drifts of katanas and other shitty imitation weaponry was blended in with decent grade wares. It was a gamble to tell what was sharp or dull whenever it fell in a drift as it was want to do. Fireworks, bottles with the caps resealed after the liquids had been changed or tampered with. Bro had lost count of how many times Dave had gone to take a deep sip of soda or juice, only to be met with a waft of vinegar or lemon juice or some other foul replacement.

It could just as easily show him nothing. No attention. No acknowledgment or nod in his direction if Dave came seeking it, just looks past him as he played his video game or worked on his laptop. Totally shut out. Bro knew he was making him more desperate, wanting his touch, his voice. Anything. He was still such a child, no matter how far forward he went.

Then again, in the hands of a puppet master, everyone was wearing strings. It was just a matter of if they knew it or not. Dave, for instance, was aware he wore strings. He just thought they were in all the wrong places. Misguided. Moving where he thought was his own free will before being gently tugged the other direction. After working him over and raising him for so long, it would have been criminal to say that wasn't the fact.

It wasn't entirely manipulation of course. Dave had his own methods of controlling Bro as easily as anything. Gestures. Looks. The simple lift up of his chin, the lick or bite of a chapped lip as he glanced to the side behind the safety of his shades. The way his Adams apple bobbed when he took a swig of juice, the trail it left down his cheek and thin neck as a dribble escaped. How casually he'd walk around in boxers in the summer, slipping in his socks.

The sleepy smile he'd give when he was just barely awake whenever Bro climbed back into bed, so different from the worried look of abandonment whenever he'd get up for a drink or to take a leak. So dependent. So proud, sure of himself for all the wrong reasons. So young.

So well trained, as well. Dave hated to give up control supposedly, hated being forced to do things, hated looking desperate. Supposedly being the key word. When he finally let go of the control and gave in, he was a sight to behold. Glassy red eyes and soft pink lips parted as he gasped and groaned, taut stomach tensing and relaxing in waves as he tried to rock up against pressure that was never enough. Pressure that may not even be there.

Bro loved to make him desperate, break him, build him back up again as he climaxed. Loved pushing him to blossom again after the crash, luring out another wave of bliss with skilled fingers and lips. Leave him boneless and breathless with his head spinning, get him to ask him to stay. Not to say he didn't crawl into Dave's bed with him afterward anyway, or slip behind him on the futon. Lay against the back and pull him up onto his chest so he'd splay out naked and sleep it off.

It didn't take much anymore to get them going now that Bro was aware of how interested Dave could get. Now that he could read his signs accurately for what they were. Some were direct, flirtatious when Dave was deluded enough to think that he'd be able to initiate contact and remain in charge of the situation. A slender blonde figure walking over after one of them had showered to press close and kiss at his collarbone, trying to come across as cool with some lame joke or another about towels and dropping soap as he pressed closer.

Dave's control was usually wrested from him within ten minutes. Five minutes if it was warm and Bro didn't want too much physical contact without a fan, or if they were still due a strife for the day. Seeing his brother stagger and try to fight post orgasm was by far the cutest damn thing he'd ever seen, face flushed and grip shaky.

Other times, Bro himself would instigate, showing from the get-go that there was no doubt over who was in charge. That he expected Dave to yield. It was never a simple thing, unless he caught him sleeping and woke him up with a casual blow job or some fingering, sleepy and relaxed and happy to just let it all roll over him.

This awake Dave struggled. He fought. Fought Bro, and fought himself to keep his teeth clenched so hard his jaw ached, till his legs would shake in their baggy black jeans from trying not to rut forwards against the leather clad palm cupped deliciously against his crotch. It would take a good slap on the ass or a few more solid gropings before, shivering hard, Dave would relent and start to rock his hips.

Today had been a good day. They'd woken up, and hadn't done a damn thing. No morning sex or stroking, no kisses, no touches. No glances. Dave didn't stumble into any traps, and Bro didn't set any. They ate cereal and milk out of a coffee cup and a small cook pot, holding the handle underhand as they flipped through television channels.

Poison of the day was Rachel Ray with her overly sunny smile, according to Dave. Bro stole the remote and flipped channels till he hit PBS with Julia Child shuffling around her kitchen giving directions. Dave bitched, Bro ignored, and they learned about the finer points of puff pastry as they poured fresh cereal into their used milk for seconds.

As morning wore into afternoon, Bro had sifted through his email accounts, checked over Amazon for anything that struck his interest, earmarked a few things Dave might like later. Dave was restless. Jumpy, putting a foot down before stepping back immediately and looking around. Every so often an accusatory glance was given to Bro, still in boxers and a tank with his bare feet hanging over the edge of the futon, as if asking what was going on. Rarely, if ever, did things remain so quiet for so long when there wasn't sex or sickness involved.

“What's the big fucking deal?” he finally demanded, leaning back against the scant bit of countertops with his elbows. He crossed his ankles anxiously, thought better of it and uncrossed them to attain a more balanced stance, then sunk back into it when all the reply he was given was a quirked eyebrow.

“Last I checked it wasn't a crime to hang out in my own living room, squirt. You want I should go make myself presentable? We going somewhere I should know about?” He let his lips twitch into a lazy smirk as Dave's face reddened, frustrated.

“I mean you. This. All of this. Why aren't you trying to beat my ass yet?”

“That eager to get spanked? Davey, I never knew.”

“You know what I mean. No tricks? Traps? Strifes? What are you planning.”

“Ask me no questions, I'll tell you no lies,” Bro said as he flicked through another page on Amazon. He hefted up the laptop and turned it on one hand, pointing to several swatches of fabric. “What do you think, kiddo. Autumn, or winter? I can't pick which color set to sew with next.”

“Can you be serious for ten seconds?”

“You're right, what was I thinking? That shit is on sale, get both and save on shipping. Good choice.”

Enraged, Dave positively vibrated “pay attention to me”. He paced the kitchen and living room a few times, lurking back to his own room to putz around for a few minutes before coming back out. Pacing the apartment for traps or tricks that he'd missed. Some sign that his brother had taken the time to prepare something for him. Bro continued to ignore him, stringing him along even after he got up and put on another pot of coffee before he pulled on his clothes. A fresh cup was steaming his shades up with every sip the next time Dave came out to stalk the apartment over, and it clinked down empty when he flash stepped into motion.

The first hint that something was finally, truly wrong, was that Bro was gone. His laptop was neatly set near the desktop, coffee and a coffee cup were in plain view, one of his drawers was left open where he'd grabbed clean clothes. But no brother. Dave lowered his stance and ventured forwards, looking around with new intensity. He could be anywhere.

“Gotta be quick, kid. How lame you gonna be today?”

The words had come from directly behind Dave's back, instinct sending out his elbow to try striking at him even as he was lurching forwards to escape in a roll. Instead of nimbly getting away, Dave was hiked off the ground by the back of his pants and dragged to the kitchen counter. His narrow upper body was planted on the counter top, one arm being yanked back as leverage even as his ass was balanced directly against a familiar set of hips.

“Let go, man, come on!” Dave hollered as he tried to move his legs to the sides to kick properly at his sibling. “Fuckin' cheater, this is bullshit, get OFF.” The more he kicked and leaned, the closer Bro was able to wedge his body till he was happily settled Dave's thighs on either side of his own. It was an awkward position, leaving Dave twisted and vulnerable, spitting venom as he tried to claw backwards at his guardian's arms and chest. The kid would put his own shoulder out at this point if it meant he could get a piece of Bro under his nails.

For now.

“Sorry kid, no can do. Y'see, I kinda like having you bent over like this. Get that tight ass bouncin' like you're on some kind of twerk team when you're convinced it'll get me off. Just makes me get closer so I can legit get off.” Dave fumed louder and groaned, huffing like the trapped animal he'd become. “That can't be all that comfortable though. Too skinny to handle bone on sharp edge counters. What you say, wanna go play nice with me?”

He wasn't ashamed of the fact he kept the tight grip on his arm, that he weighed forwards to apply more pressure to his body, wedging him firmly against the sharp edge of the counter. Kitchen sex was all well and good, but not when he was in a sour mood. The only bruises Bro wanted on Dave today were the ones he inflicted by hand, not weapon or object. A softer surface was in order.

It took another minute of Dave struggling and tiring himself out, spending the worst of his rage as Bro gently began to work his hips against his ass before he quietly agreed. His words tasted like defeat and it was the sweetest taste in the world, a hint at what was to come. Keeping his grip tight on the younger Strider, Bro backed off and let him straighten up, lifting him clear off his feet when he tried to break loose immediately after.

“Ah, ah, ah. What'd I just say?” Bro asked as he gave his prisoner a jiggle. Dejected, Dave let himself go limp as a two year old till the slack was brought back, being draped on the floor. When he didn't stand up right away, he was dragged along while he whined and complained.

“Bro, come on, why didn't you do this earlier? Why didn't we strife earlier?” Usually, Dave would get to put his own moves on if they were mid-strife, or in the clean up afterward. This had left him nothing to work with. Nothing to do but give in, despite his yelling that he still refused to accept it.

Bro dragged him along to the futon before he stopped and bent over, gripping one of his ankles and lifting upwards to flop him onto the piece of furniture like a sack of potatoes. Dave rolled over quickly so they were facing each other and drew up one knee, slowly letting it slide down when Bro didn't move to pin him again. No more attacking. Just watching. Waiting.

Staring through him again.

“Because I knew you were expecting it,” he said simply.

Minutes crawled by as Dave and Bro stared each other down, stone faced, Bro leaned over the end of the sofa and Dave looking willfully back up at him. He kept his chin lifted for the first few minutes, then it slowly went down as he began to fidget. After six minutes and still no touching, Dave began to shuffle in place, working his shirt up and off, unbuttoning his pants. By fifteen, he was fully naked and sporting a half mast erection, chewing at his lip.

He still thought this was all his choice, trying to get a rise out of Bro. Oh, how the puppet dances thinking it's being willful. Slowly, ever so slowly, Bro sat down next to him and tugged him over into his lap. After staring at him for so long, it was finally time to have a touch. And a taste. And a slow, leisurely palming over smooth flesh as Dave began to stretch and relax. He rested his thin back against Bro's chest and sighed, letting his legs part so there was no blocking the places he wanted touched, calves resting outside the elders knees.

Dave was putty. Beautiful, desperate putty as more time crawled by. With gentle, timed ministrations of his gloved hands, Bro brought his brother to a full mast erection that dribbled pre-come along its underside. He slicked it along the head, used it to lubricate some of his movements, then shoved his fingers into the younger's mouth. Dave knew it wasn't a request when the raspy voice said, “Suck.”

Obediently, eager for what would come next, Dave lavished attention over the digits. He worked the sensitive portions of the flesh with his tongue, drooled heavily on them when he wasn't suckling them deep, eyes closing behind his shades as he finally let out a moan. Yes. Soon, everything would feel much, much better. He'd get payback for earlier in the form of a damn good orgasm, and the night would go back to feeling more normal than before.

Fingers slick with spit, Bro lifted his hand from Dave's mouth and reached them down between his legs, slicking the excess fluid against his anus before gently prodding at him. No more than prodding, teasing, working him mercilessly to get the sensitivity up to the point he could barely breathe without shaking whenever he was touched.

Then, stopping. Dave cried out like he'd been slapped, reaching back to swat at Bro's head and shoulders.

“Hey! What's the big idea? C'mon.. C'mon, do it again. Actually go in this time, I'm ready. More than ready, don't be a douchebag, oh my fuck, come ON,” Dave whined.

Bro wasn't that impressed, sighing and leaning his head back suddenly as if bored by the entire situation. He stared at the ceiling, watched the soundproof tile speckles blend together into different patterns. When Dave shifted in his lap, starting to squirm again, he dared a peek down. Dave was all flushed cheeks and flustered nerves, softly panting breaths and damp red lips, hair sticking up at odd angles. His dick was just as flushed, heavy and sore looking, bobbing when he moved just right.

Keeping him on his toes all day, then suddenly springing on him was apparently perfect bait. He was already breaking down things that sometimes would take ages to break. Dave was saying please, straddling his hips and rutting forwards against his groin to try spurring some motion, hormones kicking his brain till it would do the humiliating task. To get off by his own hand now would be giving in. Dave was too strong for that.

Or, at least, Bro had thought he was. After a bit more time barely touching him, stroking down his thighs as he moved instead of encouraging him or touching him how he wanted, Dave tried to grasp himself to go ahead and come. Relieve the pressure. The futon barely had time to creak as Bro's grip tightened on Dave's hip and pushed him off his lap to the side, rolling after him to crush him down. His hand fell away to the side to avoid damaging his own body, air coming out in a whooshing grunt.

Assuming he was finally going to properly get off, Dave began tugging at Bro's shirt to try getting it off, hungrily biting at his throat till phantom rings of bruised pearls rose to the surface in his wake. He scratched and arched, spread his legs and tried to tug his brother down more solidly onto him. If he were able to reach, Dave would have been clawing at his belt buckle. Arousal was in control now, and it was not a pleasant mistress to be controlled by.

Bro moved slowly and deliberately, barely touching Dave where he wanted, even now. He kept his upper body at bay with his own weight and the breadth of his shoulders, reaching till he could snatch his wrists together and force them up over his head. Only then did he begin to rock his hips again, grinding his own erection down against Dave's, making him fight even harder.

“PLEASE. Just. Pick a spot and let me have it, come on!” he wailed, kicking his small feet till they hammered against Bro's back. The similarities to his cries and a junkie needing a fix were not lost on either of them.

“Yeah, yeah, just gimme a second. Gotta give these old bones time to warm up, kiddo, not as young as I used to be.” Another kick of Dave's foot tagged his kidney and he huffed out a breath, hissing on the next inhale from the sting. “Alright, cowboy, alright. I hear ya.”

So it came to be that Dave was stroked and fondled again, fingers stroking along his balls and ass, friction making his body shake. A loose grip now and then made him keen and shiver harder, tugging to get his wrists loose, feet raising up higher instead of continuing to kick and fight. If he begged, verbally and physically, he got more of what he wanted. If he rested too long, it would all be taken away or stopped entirely.

It was a heavy, exhausting price to pay, but it was finally worth it. Dave could feel his stomach twitching, knew he was going to come any second, hips spastically twitching in place as he neared his peak. Bro, able to feel every damn inch of him, knew what was coming.

He removed his hands and froze, laying perfectly still atop his now screaming brother. Surely by now the neighbors were applying earplugs, turning up music or televisions to drown out the noise his angry brother was making. Bro moved his wrist, squeezed at his dick hard once, then stopped. Dave was whimpering, almost in tears, needing to come. Knowing what he had to do next. Teeth grit, Dave looked up and murmured an insistent “please”.

Bro smiled, gave him another firm squeeze and a few leisurely tugs. Dave began to sweat as a task that should have taken mere seconds, maybe five motions of his own hand, was stretched out over minutes. He was kept on the very edge the entire time, begging, pleading, moaning as he thrashed his body around. Please, God, just let him come. Let it be over. Let his brother stop being a huge anthropomorphic bag of douche.

Let him have this.

Fists balled tightly over his head, Dave arched and cried out a final time, painting his own stomach and Bro's shirt with streaks of sticky white. Shaking and flushed, sweat slicked over his skinny body, Dave sank further back into the futon with a relieved sigh. Finally, it was done. He could breathe, bask in his afterglow heavy as an opiate running through his veins, eyes lidded heavily. His brain was barely registering things in time, only catching on ten heartbeats later that his shades had been removed and set aside.

Bro was taking off his gloves and his hat, his own shades to set aside with his brothers. Casually, oh so sweetly, Bro leaned down and bit at his heated throat, suckling a dark hickey before drawing up near his ear.

“Did good, Dave. Did damn good. … Gonna do even better on round two, huh?”

Dave couldn't help with weakly moan at the prospect, unable to draw up enough reasons to say no. He knew it would be worth his while once Bro got what he wanted. Their dance was a funny one sometimes to say the least, checks and balances, power and control switching around from hand to hand even if Bro was always the one in control of the hands. But it was their own private dance, and as long as Bro asked, Dave would always be up for another go.  

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr mirror- http://themockingcrows.tumblr.com/post/52149974477/not-good-until-he-begs


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